To Berkeley

I'm going to miss you, but I don't know how much yet. Because, although they say that in love we should not compare, we always love by comparison. The perfect example will be a hot February when I remember your mist penetrating the Berkeley Hills skirts. I'll be older, my skin thicker, and I'll know that image will refresh me more then than what it does now.

I'll look for you in the stray cats that assail you with looks of tenderness. It will hit me to think that I won't be around to see how this city ages static in time: preserving its essence, evolving alive and dead.

When I think of him, I will live you through that memory. And you will be the blood that carries all the oxygen of this stage of my life. A vehicle to tell my story.

You are at the same latitude as Alicante, but I am not in my Mediterranean; these waters are from the Pacific. And you got it: thrilling sunsets. To be able to turn my head to the right and say goodbye to San Francisco; even though I don't go there as much. Even if these months have been cold. I have lived in exile, writing myself messages of help in a golden jar.

It has been 10 months in which I have made a declaration of war to so many enemy states that I went into revolution. Just when I thought this was going to make me burn my Rome and turn it all to ashes, it turns out that I am an untimely Phoenix; and I just had to wait to be reborn. Turns out Berkeley is fire too.

That you've made a revolution of bravery, work, uncomfortable situations, tough conversations, saying goodbye with an "I'll hang up," being stubborn, respecting my spirit, abusing my body, building myself from the ground up, low blows, adrenaline and excess, being the mouse behind the cheese.

As green, as tall as a sequoia, random in architecture, in harmony as passers-by. They overtake me on the left and I have to strive to trust the wisdom of the one who makes the game and has put me here; because I fear nothing; because this is the greatest adventure of my life. I want to keep it that way, even though I don't know when I will fall. This is a chisel that opens the veneer and touches you with poetic justice and mathematical accuracy where it is necessary to touch to say "you were and are wrong, but if you let this hurt now, you will discover the real truth". The way of the warrior.